Her eyes are empty now. Bleak and vast as a desert, the hazel dulled by grief and loss.
They used to snap with hidden fire, the green gleaming through the brown. Her emotions shone in her eyes.
They shine with nothing now.
It's not just her eyes. Her hair is lank--uncombed and greasy. She's lost weight again, her clothes hanging from her slumped shoulders. Her lips are pinched and taut, a smile never crossing them.
She dresses all in black, usually wrapped in a leather jacket three or four sizes too big, the color highlighting the pallor of her face.
Even her lips are pale.
If I didn't know better, I'd think she'd been turned.
It's been two weeks since Joyce's death, and I've stayed away, out of respect, the only kind I know how to give her. My presence would have only upset her more, but it hurt to avoid her, to go without seeing her. Even her yelling and hitting me is better than not being with her at all.
But, even I wouldn't add to her burden.
So, every night I stand beneath her window, lurking in the shadows, waiting to catch a glimpse of her.
Tonight she came out on the front steps and sat down as I quickly slid behind the tree. In the light from the porch I can see the hollow look in her eyes and I realize they're getting even more empty.
How is that even possible? Is there no end to despair? Or is it a bottomless pit?
I watch as she takes a shaky breath and another, as if it's too hard to breathe. Her slumped shoulders shake, but no tears fill her dull eyes, and I wonder if she's ever cried for her mother.
For herself.
Sudden anger fills me and I revel in it as it drives away this feeling of helplessness that only ever serves to piss me off. I want to stomp over to her and shake some sense into her, shake the tears out of her, make her do...something.
Make her realize that all she's doing is following her mother into a way too early grave.
Another shuddering breath racks her slender body and she pushes herself to her feet. I watch her slowly straighten, as if her body is ancient and crippled, and her eyes focus on the tree. I duck into the shadows, but I know it's too late.
She's seen me. She's heading this way, her steps slow and faltering yet still aimed at me.
Finally.
Something.
As I hear the grass whisper beneath her feet, I peer around the tree and nearly choke on my own saliva.
Her blouse hangs open from her shoulders, her breasts unconstrained by a bra sway gently with each step, her fingers are under her skirt and, as I gape in shock, her panties slide down her legs to her ankles.
She steps out of them as she reaches me.
I gasp her name, stunned into near inarticulateness, but my body responds to her, the sight of her half naked, the smell of her need.
It isn't sexual need, but something much deeper, much more raw.
Her eyes are still incredibly empty, dulled beyond belief, but her face is determined. She pushes my unresisting body against the tree, deep into the shadows, and tugs my t-shirt from my jeans.
Trembling uncontrollably, confused, but too aroused to stop either of us, I yank the shirt over my head and then gasp loudly as her hot, firm breasts press against my cool chest.
"Fuck..." I mumble as lust slams through me.
"Yes," is the only thing she says to me as she throws me to the ground beneath her. Her hands move quickly, tugging open my belt and my jeans, freeing my straining erection. Before I can do more than grab her waist, she's on me, drowning me in her heated depths with one hard plunge.
I can't help it, I cry out and arch my back, driving deeper as her muscles clench around me and drive me insane with lust. Any protest I might have had is thrust from my mind with the thrusts of our bodies together, as we writhe and buck and slam against each other in a fast, almost passionless mating.
Helpless beneath her and the demands of my own needy body, I cup her breasts, kneading them as she arches into my touch. I watch as her head falls back and she whimpers, a long, drawn out sound of pain and need. Her head snaps forward and our eyes meet and I nearly cry as something glints in the dull hazel. Just a tiny hint of something.
A spark of life.
Unable to contain myself, I explode inside her, thrusting my hips higher and higher until she's clutching at my shoulders, grinding against me and moaning as her own climax overwhelms her.
As she collapses limply on top of me, I listen to her harsh breathing and feel her shaking as I wrap my arms around her. Slowly her head lifts and our eyes meet again, and I watch in wonder as tears slip from hers to fall on my cheeks.
"Thank you," she whispers in the softest voice, before rising from me and leaving me laying spent and used in her front yard.
I force myself onto one elbow to watch her walk into the house. Her shoulders are a bit higher, her step a bit quicker, her body no longer slumped and trembling.
And her eyes...her eyes again gleam with life, just a bit now, but I know with each day more will return, until they snap with fire and smile with joy.
And, maybe someday, flicker with passion.
The End